The Queen's Warlord
by Diglossia
Summary: Morton's always been protective of his cousin. Now that she's getting older, he's becoming even more so. Warning for incest.


Morton knew he was not one of them from the moment they first met. _They_ were powerful, intriguing, Queens and Princes, and Warlord Princes. Rulers. Fighters. Leaders. People you could trust and respect- and fear- from a single whiff of their psychic scents.

He was the weakest of them all and they knew it. He was not Jaenelle's friend. There was a possibility they did not know that. He had never met Witch. She had never welcomed him to her the way she had them.

The only leverage he had was the knowledge of which man was the High Lord and who hadn't figured that out within ten seconds of being in that man's presence?

Worst of all, he served. He was seventeen years old and he served. Karla was his Queen. He wanted no other, needed no other. The sole reason he had walked into SaDiablo Hall that day was because his Queen wanted it. He had no direct interest in Jaenelle. Oh, he was glad she was alright, that the bastards who had hurt her had not broken her, but he didn't know her. She was not Glacian. She did not serve his Queen.

He never knew that his unwavering subservience to his cousin shaped the mindset of a dozen Queens who would one day rule Kaeleer.

ØØØ

Morton shivered. Twenty. The age of majority. It was too far away. Karla could set up her court at seventeen. She would make the Offering to the Darkness before that and whatever Jewels she came away with would be the strongest in Glacia.

He could only imagine how stunning she would be then. There were plenty of good men left in Glacia, men who did not heed Hobart's radical ideas. They would come to Karla when she started to set up her court. She had the Hourglass at her back. She had the triple gift, Queen, Black Widow, and Healer. Anyone with sense would serve her.

But.

But. She had yet to go through her Virgin Night. Everything could be ripped from her in an instant. Glacia was waiting for her and everything depended on what lay between her legs.

And there was no one they could trust. Not before her court was set, not before she made the Offering. Right now any man who got near her was a potential threat. Anyone could be at Hobart's beck and call, waiting to take her potential from her.

Karla did not want to believe that. She knew Hobart was twisted but she thought she could put him in line once she came into power. They had not talked about it but her silence told Morton everything he needed to know.

She wanted to think she was so strong, that no one would dare touch a woman who looked like a man, who acted like a man, who fought like a beast.

She did not want to think how easy it would be for Hobart to take the Territory over if she was broken, unable to reach her strength and weave her Tangled Webs. She felt it, she knew it, like they all knew it. But she wasn't suspicious the way Morton was, looking in every corner for the threat that loomed stronger than she could ever know.

Jaenelle could not protect her if Jaenelle was not with her.

ØØØ

"No," Morton said, shaking his head. "Choose someone else."

Karla snarled, a vicious sound that made the Warlord in him want to drop to the floor and bare his belly to her claws. Morton shuddered, willing the instinctual reaction away. "There is no one else."

They were in his bedroom, the one just two doors down from hers. It was the closest he could be to her without occupying the Consort's room that attached to hers. It, like everything that belonged to Morton, belonged to her.

So he was not surprised to find his cousin barging into his room in the middle of the night, swearing and demanding to talk to him. Morton, used to her cruel teasing and sharp temper, was nevertheless thrown off by the sudden nervous anger she brought with her.

As his Queen, she could simply make a formal request for him to do this. It was only because he was her cousin and companion that she gave him the time and the opportunity to refuse.

"There is, Karla. I'll be there if that's what you want but _no_."

She swore, her nostrils flaring in anger. Morton sat down on the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his ice blonde hair, shaken more than he wanted her to know.

He could not tell her that his refusal was because he was disgusted by the idea of being with his relative. Glacia was a large Territory but it had never had many people. Cities were far-flung and few ventured away from where they were born. Cousins were often married, but only if their parents, siblings, were of opposite genders. A witch could expect to have her children marry her brother's children but not her sisters. Glacians were matriarchal, like all the Blood and paternity was confirmed or denied at the Birthright Ceremony. It was considered inauspicious for married partners to have the same surname.

Their mothers had been sisters. That made Karla untouchable under the more stringent laws but there had been times when the Glacian population had dipped low enough for sisters to allow their children to marry.

No, their shared bloodline was not the problem.

Morton could not do it. He could not take Karla's power in his own hands and know, with one mistake, that he could take it all from her. She was his hope, all their hope. She was the bright light for Glacia. He couldn't take that from her.

She knew that- and she knew he wasn't able to do it. He did not have the power to break her Inner Web or even to reach it. She picked him because he was too weak to so much as scratch her without her consent, let alone truly threaten her.

Karla might as well have gutted him. Morton _served_ her, would do anything for her, and instead of relying on his visceral connection to her, she wanted to use him.

He _loved_ her and she-

"You have to!"

"Our mothers were sisters-"

"You think I don't know that?" Karla's eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and stamped her foot. Morton sighed. "I don't care! You know how badly I need this done. Why won't you do it?"

"I said no."

Her temper grew, turning the room into an oven. "You son of a whoring bitch, remember _who you serve_."

"I do." She couldn't waive him. She could scare the living hell out of him but she could not make him do this.

"I trust you." She sounded vulnerable, so vulnerable. It tore at him, demanded him to protect her. Hell's fire! He was a Warlord. He should not feel this protective of her.

"I'll be there, Karla, I will. Please, don't make me do this." Because if he did this, if he had this one chance to touch her, to pleasure her, to take her trust to the ultimate level, he would not be able to go back. If he had this one night with her, he would have to leave her. He had promised to protect her, serve her, obey her, but he could not watch her day in and day out knowing he could never have her the way he wanted, not after that one sweet taste of what he wanted.

He would protect her. He would be there when she was at her most vulnerable, protecting her even though every last reserve drop in his Jewels could not match a flicker of her Sapphire.

ØØØ

Morton groaned quietly, leaning his head back against the mantle of his bedpost. They had spent the night at the theater. Karla had hated it but Morton knew how important it was that the Blood see her supporting the local arts. Thus, visits to museums, art exhibits, plays, speeches, anything public where she could be seen and evaluated by those she would one day rule. They needed to know who this Sapphire-Jeweled Queen was so that when the time came they would choose her above the other contenders.

Morton was sure the Blood of Glacia would choose her when the time came. Once you met Karla, it was impossible to see any other witch ruling the Territory. She. Was. Perfect. In every way a Queen should be. A more acidic tone than most but it only proved she was not a simpering witch who needed to hang on a Warlord Prince's arm to feel powerful.

He admired her. No, it was more than admiration. He needed her, craved her presence and her psychic scent. That _scent_. It called to him, curled around his heart, and pulled him to her.

Uncle Hobart had told her that scent was how you knew that witches like Karla would never make real women.

Men did not _need_ women. That was a lie spread by dark Jeweled witches to convince males they weren't unnatural. Of course, men were not stupid. They knew that a psychic scent couldn't pull you to a witch.

So the witches asked those unnatural Black Widow bitches to help them keep their lie up. The Black Widows gave them spells and perfumes, and other trickeries to fool men into thinking they needed the women.

Never let yourself be fooled by those trickeries, Morton, he had said, as though it were strong, sensible advice. Black Widows were terrible, twisted versions of once-good witches. They had never received strong, male guidance and had had to create their own special Sanctuaries to hide themselves from the men they so desperately wanted.

Karla was unnatural. Her mind was crippled by the Jewels she wore. What woman needed Jewels that strong? Who would want to serve a Sapphire-Jeweled Queen?

Males should never serve a witch stronger than them. Strong witches would only use you, like they did in Terreille. Strong witches would hurt you for the fun of it because they didn't know how a real woman dealt with men. The only good in bedding a strong witch was the possibility of having a male child who would wear dark Jewels.

ØØØ

Morton balled his silk-screened napkin into a fist, nails digging sharply into the cloth. He kept his smile pleasant as the bastard across the table offered up another comment about how charming his sister had become after that unfortunate accident on her Virgin Night. Without the horrible weight of her Purple Dusk Jewel, she was so quiet now, so calm. Sweet.

The man looked pointedly at Karla when he spoke his next words.

"Lord Morton, isn't there any witch you know who could use a little sweetening?"

Yes, Morton knew a witch who could use a 'little sweetening'. He knew plenty of witches who needed a 'little sweetening'.

They left the party soon after, Karla only not ripping the bastard's throat out with her fingernails because Morton made her promise not to. He was just a Tiger Eye Prince, all talk and no fight.

That was what he told her, his words calm though he did not believe them himself. Sapphire could be defeated by Tiger Eye if Tiger Eye had help. If Tiger Eye could defeat Sapphire, Morton stood no chance.

He had to protect Karla. He had to find a way, something or someone that reached beyond his Jewels. He was too weak. She was strong enough. It wouldn't make a difference if there were enough of them.

They couldn't keep pushing it off.

A virgin Queen was too good of a target for Hobart's men. A witch was never as vulnerable as she was on her Virgin Night, whether that even turned out to be a night at all. Her Inner Web could be reached and punctured easily if a man knew how. Afterwards, she would lay broken and bleeding, forever cut off from her strength.

He would not let that happen to Karla.

They had to get it done as soon as possible, Morton reminded her time and again. She glared at him and pointed out that a cock between her legs was the last thing she needed. He didn't have a choice. She was his Queen. He had to obey.

Morton tried, sweet Darkness did he try, but after one dinner too many where he could not trust the men sitting next to him, he'd had enough.

She had left his side for a minute, a _minute_. In that minute, he reached the killing edge for the first time in his life. Warlords did not naturally ride the killing edge like Warlord Princes did. The male castes were more about temperament than ability and Warlords were the most mild-tempered of the Blood males. They were easygoing, non-confrontational, and content to follow leaders simply because they were leaders.

They were not natural fighters. To reach the killing edge, they had to feel an anger so deep and so vicious that it took them to a place they were never meant to be. The Blood had no laws against killing. In that moment, Morton knew he would massacre any male in that room who touched his Queen.

Karla was not pleased when he yanked her out of the mansion, caught the Opal Wind, and rode it as hard as he could. She snarled, shielded him, and tore out on the Sapphire. The shame flooding him at being protected when he was the one who was supposed to be protecting barely brought him back from the killing edge.

They dropped to the Landing Web. She stormed off, muttering about irrational males.

"Lucivar," he whispered later, after an hour of pacing and hair pulling. He stared at the mirror with eyes that were still tinged with red. Karla trusted Lucivar. He was the High Lord's son, Jaenelle's brother. The High Lord had promised shelter to Karla and to him if they ever needed it. He would not let Lucivar break Karla.

*Lucivar.*

*Morton.*

*I need help.*

He explained in quick, clipped words what needed to be done. Lucivar was silent for so long Morton thought the line had been cut.

*There are others…* Morton said, cringing inwardly. He was not a skilled liar. Lucivar had to know he was lying. There weren't others. There was one. Morton.

*I'll do it,* Lucivar said finally, coldly. *For Karla.*

*For Karla,* Morton agreed.

The Ebon-gray left Glacia. Morton sighed. He leaned against the sink, trembling slightly.

Karla would kill him when Lucivar told her. Witch would understand. Witch would make certain Karla walked away from that room whole, with all the power of the Gray.

Even if he did not live to see that day, his Queen would be safe.


End file.
